The Little Wolf
by LetImaginationRunWild
Summary: Can Sandor and Sansa's relationship bloom into something more? A story about the love between even the most unlikely people. Note. I will not be able to update to until November the 21st, currently doing exams. Sorry for any disappointment.


**So this is my first fanfiction. I hope it is pleasing to read, was really insecure and nervous when it came to publishing this. I absolutely love the Sandor+Sansa fantasy! I plan to write this as a continuing story. Please feel ****free to leave comments or PM me. All criticism is welcome and compliments!**

**George R.R. Martin owns Game of Thrones, I do not own these characters. **

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Sandor sat upon his bed, wearing little more than his breeches. His tanned chest was adorned with numerous scars, some from as early on as infancy. His childhood had not been a kind one. His flagon of bitter wine made its familiar journey to his burnt lips. The sour liquid seemed to caress his throat and lighten his mind. He thought back to the morn, where he watched Ser Meryn beat that Stark girl; bearing her pale flesh for the King's sadistic pleasure. Sansa's soft face was streaked with tears, her blue eyes still brimming with fresh ones yet to fall. Meryn had brutally struck the girl; a look of glee on his hard features as his sword brought her to her knees. Sandor feared this torture would have continued for the rest of the morning if Lord Tyrion had not interjected. The imp's deformed body waddled in, outraged on his face. It was then Sandor was able to step forward to show what little compassion he could; he had only wished that white cloak that disgusted him had been a little cleaner. His beaten armour on the ground, callously discarded. He lay down, trying to let sleep encompass him but it wouldn't come. He strode around his room continuing to gulp from the flagon. When his lips were left dry he endeavoured to look for more wine. He lurched out of his room in search for the debilitating drink.

He didn't realise he was upon her room until his curled fist was knocking on the familiar smooth wood. The Lady Stark opened her door a jar, a dress of the palest lavender wrapped around her slim body. "Ser. Pray tell why you knock on my door at such an hour. Does the King yet again want my appearance?" Sandor growled. "I thought I had told you before that I am not _Ser,_" he spat out the words. Sansa could smell the wine omitting from him. She opened her door to its full potential. "Do you need help Hound?" The pet name felt cruel on her lips. Sandor shook his head; what little hair he had swung in front of his burnt face. It was then Sansa noticed his attire. She shook her head at Sandor. "Come in then. Do you want some water?" Sandor stumbled straight for the goblet of wine on her wooden table. He downed it with little more than a gasp. "Ghastly stuff, I find." Sandor looked up to see Sansa watching him with curious eyes. Sandor shrugged, "You'll be getting used to it soon enough, my lady." He mockingly bowed in front of her but proceeded to stagger in to her fragile body. He fell on top of her and she went under him. Sandor pushed himself up with his arms, careful not to crush the little bird. "You're warm." She smiled meekly as she said it. Without warning, Sansa's hand was suddenly upon his face. Her fingers trailed down his unmarred cheek. He tried to turn away when she travelled to the burnt skin but she commanded him to stop. A dog must always obey. Her fingers ghosted over his cheek, the hard lump of flesh giving way against her soft skin. She loved the feeling; Sandor closed his eyes not wanting to see the disgust on her face. Sansa continued her journey of Sandor's face. "Open your eyes." Sandor acquiesced. He was greeted by a warm smile. Her gentle hands soundly turned as Sansa lifted her head and kissed that beautiful mouth, she could taste the wine yet she didn't mind. Sandor groaned and sat up pulling the little bird onto his lap. Sandor's member strained to escape his thin breeches but he rearranged Sansa to give him some relief. He yearned to be as close to her as possible; the only way he knew. Sansa broke the kiss and stared deep into Sandor's grey eyes. He licked his lips, still tasting her. The hunger inside of him burned. He stood up; Sansa cradled in his arms and place her down on her unmade bed. He, left standing kissed her forehead and retreated. He would not spoil his little bird. Sansa called out but The Hound closed her door without a second glance.

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**A humongous thank you goes out to boozy von chugaton. She read my story and gave me constructive criticism Anyone who reads my stuff should defiantly go read hers (even if you don't read mine). Her fanfic "The Hound and the Bird" was the first fanfic I had ever read and she inspired me to write this one. So YAY her. Thanks heaps everyone!**


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